I Sing of Arms and Of a Queen
by thesapphireknight
Summary: Queen Catherine/OFC


My carriage jostled along the road, hitting every divot and stone. It had been early morning when we set out, and we had long since stopped for noon repast. As the eldest daughter of my family, I was being sent to court to serve as a lady in waiting to Queen Catherine. I was to fulfill my duty by learning courtly manners and graces, and most importantly, I was to find a husband. With no brothers to care for my father's land and titles, and no mother to sire any more offspring, it was my purpose to elevate the family through marriage, and secure our line.

I was ripe with excitement. I had never been to French court, although I'd heard tales from my mother at a young age. And if the rumors were to be believed, Queen Mary of Scotland would also be in attendance at court, awaiting her marriage to Prince Francis. Which would mean her ladies would be about as well. I did not know much about Queen Catherine, but I had been informed that I would be the youngest of her ladies. At least with Queen Mary's charges I would have people my own age about me.

I had brought with me only two trunks, one filled to the brim with dresses, the other stuffed with all the books I owned. Father had not approved, but he eventually conceded, knowing I could never part with them. I loved to read. Seated in the carriage, I let my mind wander to the outer reaches of the cosmos and back in time, flipping through pages like a determined schoolgirl, and requiring a lamp as the sun began to set.

...

Later...

...

We make the castle by nightfall. It is a huge, sprawling thing, made of stone and graced by beautiful gardens and clean cut lakes with graceful fountains erupting from the centers. The footmen carry my trunks to my room, and as I follow them I observe with fervor the tapestried walls, rich and decadent. I decide immediately that I will love it here. My father's house is gorgeous, to be sure. He is an important banner-man to King Henry. But this surpasses what I once called home. I think it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

My rooms are lavish compared with what I'm used to, but I'm sure they are nothing compared with the Queen's. A maid comes in to bring a hot pan for my bed, and I wash off before slipping into a gown and between the silken sheets. The firelight dances on the walls, and for a few moments, I imagine myself as having always lived here.

...

Later...

...

I sleep fitfully through the night, and at dawn, I rise and put on my best dress. It is customary to be presented to the queen, and I know I cannot disappoint my father. He would want me to be perfect. However, I do not meet the queen that day, or the next three that follow. Instead, I am welcomed with open arms by all the other ladies, each with a minimum of eight years (as promised!) on my age of 21. But they are kind women, and we sit together, reading, sewing, and sharing gossip. On the fourth day I finally get up the courage to ask where the queen is. They don't look up from their work, and tell me only that she is in her rooms. I see little to nothing of Queen Mary or her ladies, and it seems as though my hopes for friends my own age are to be disappointed. Nevertheless, I find myself falling into the easy rhythm of life here.

On the morning of the fifth day, I am told to ready myself to meet the queen. I put on the last of my lovely dresses, tying back my hair with ribbons, and powdering my face ever so slightly. I follow the guards and we make our way to her outer rooms. The ladies are giggling about something that Bash, the King's bastard, has done or said, and I have half a mind to join in…

But as soon as I enter the room everything else falls away as I find myself before the most radiantly beautiful woman I have ever seen.

The queen sits upon a dais in a lovely velvet gown, her hair pulled back beneath her crown with a few gentle ringlets framing her face. Her porcelain skin is as smooth and clear as cream, accentuated only by a few clusters of freckles. Her features small and delicate, a small mouth and gently pointed nose giving her the appearance of a china doll, only more splendid.

"Your majesty, this is Lady Kai, your new lady in waiting," says her steward, and I force myself into motion, and cross directly in front of her, kneeling deeply, until I hear her soft "Rise, child." Even her voice is like honey. As I stand, I lift my face to make eye contact with her. When her jade eyes lock with mine, I discover that though she is beautiful, there is something sad about her, hiding behind her eyes.

I hold eye contact for as long as I dare before saying "Your majesty, it is an honor to serve you." She quirks an eyebrow, ever so slightly. She stares at me for a long time, and the sadness is taken over by a sort of…almost curiosity.

After a moment, she nods. The ladies move to sit about the room, and I take my cue, retreating to the window seat with a book.

After a while I dare to look up from my novel. The queen is staring out the window to her right, her face bathed in sunlight, and yet with a look of melancholy disturbing it's natural beauty. I find myself thinking that I would do anything to erase that look and replace it with something better. I chide myself for the ridiculous notion. I am no knight, and the Queen of France is certainly no damsel in distress. But I have never felt this way about another in my life.

I pull my thoughts back to the present. I fear I have been staring for too long, and return my eyes to my book. After several long minutes, I dare to lift my face again. I can tell the queen is distracted, and I can surely guess why. The castle is alight with gossip about how the King has returned to court with his official mistress, Diane, and that he has taken a second mistress - Lady Kenna, one of Mary's ladies. I feel for her majesty, her distress like a dagger in my heart.

We sit together in the queen's rooms for a long time. I find that I am rather enjoying my book, and do not realize that I am smiling until the queen calls on me. "Lady Kai, pray, share with us what amuses you so." I look up to find that everyone's eyes are on me. I close my book on my finger, and only stutter for a moment before recovering my senses.

"With pleasure, your majesty. I am reading _Aeneid_ by Virgil. A relatively new publishing, but a wonderous tale."

Queen Catherine stands, and crosses next to me, hands outstretched. I hand her the book willingly, and she flips through a few pages.

"It's in Latin," she states, looking down at me. "You read Latin?" I nod. "Yes, your majesty." After a long look, she hands the book back to me, turned to the first page.

She returns to her seat, and quirks her eyebrow. I smile, and begin. "_Arma virumque cano_…I sing of arms and of a man…"

...

Later...

...

Later, I am wandering round the drawing room. The nobles are at dinner, and some food has been placed out here for the queen's ladies. I find myself staying long after everyone else has gone, and the servants come in to clear the plates.

I retreat to my window seat with my book, only half paying attention to what they're saying. I had spent all afternoon reading to the queen. Every time I looked up from the page, I could see different emotions play across her face. Sometimes she would simply be watching me. Other times she would daze out the window, longingly. My favorite was when I would catch her, fully relaxed for an instant, with her eyes shut.

I closed my book, basking in the memory, and suddenly found myself tuning in to what the servants were saying. "Did you see the Queen at dinner tonight? Dropping a goblet all over herself when Henry fed Diane a fig. I've never seen a woman more uptight," one of the ladies was saying. Another chimed in. "Wound tight as a bowstring, she is." And another "What she needs is a good fucking, although Henry's not likely to give it to her."

As they laughed I rose quickly, bile in my mouth. "That is your queen." I say sharply, and perhaps a little too loudly. "The next time I hear an unkind remark pass your lips I will have your tongue." The servants nod and bow and scatter.

I exhale, and sit, willing myself to calm down and trying with all my might to read another sentence of my book. But it is no use, and I decide to retire to my chambers. Softly the tapestries rustle as I make my exit.

I do not hear the soft exhale, nor do I see a hand move up to wipe a tear off of it's owner's face.

I head to my own chambers, as Catherine de Medici steps from behind her hiding spot, and into the light, a look of bewildered surprise gracing her features.


End file.
